


D.A.R.E. to not do drugs

by ticketlove



Category: Ticketlove(band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticketlove/pseuds/ticketlove





	D.A.R.E. to not do drugs

“I’ve got something new I know you’d love to try, baby.” 

“Hmmm.... what is it?” 

“Do you really want me to ruin the surprise? Open up and say, ‘ahh’ for me. And make sure your eyes are closed, alright?” 

Sasuke does as he’s told, like always, and surely enough, soon he can taste the bitterness of pills on his mouth, the chalky texture already dissolving on his tongue from his saliva- well, not just his, of course, he’s had men shoving their gross tongues down his throat all night long. It tastes disgusting, and as it pops and fizzes the bitterness spreads to the rest of his tongue, and then his whole mouth, like an infection. A parasite. Sasuke reaches behind himself to the table of the bar to grab his drink when he feels a firm hand on his wrist and stops in his tracks. 

“You’re not supposed to take those with alcohol, baby.” The man- Sasuke can’t bother to remember his name- is whispering in Sasuke’s ear, hot and heavy, filled with lust and desire and everything Sasuke isn’t, so he gives himself the momentary luxury of letting his lips curl in disgust when he knows no one will see. 

He lowers his voice slightly when he speaks, drags his words out in a way he knows will get him what he wants when he wants it, and will drive this guy wild. “Mmhh..” The noise he makes is strangely sensual, a mix between a moan and a pout, a wonton expression of his disappointment. “But it’s more fun if we do it like this, isn’t it? Mmm... c’mon... Please...?” Of course, the man doesn’t really care about him, he just wanted to be a tease, to show dominance, to get off on his little kink of thinking he’s the one in control there. And in a way, he is, but Sasuke doesn’t realize. 

‘If I get paid, I’m the one benefitting.’ He says, every night, to himself, as he wakes up in another bed, in a club bathroom, anywhere but in his home with parents who care or in the dorms with friends who cherish him. 

The man lets go of Sasuke’s wrist, of course, because what else would he do when Sasuke begged like that, pressing their hips together, slowly, teasingly, like he’s trying to reason, to bargain for his own intoxication. Most men are surprised, when they learn they don’t have to try with Sasuke. They don’t have to convince him, they don’t have to trick, or manipulate, or pull any of their stunts they have to do when they want to have a quick fuck with anyone else. As long as they pay, they can do anything, anything they could ever dream, and that’s exactly how Sasuke “likes” it. 

By the time the glass touches Sasuke’s lip, the pill is completely dissolved and it takes everything he can not to grimace. He leans his head back and finishes what he has in a desperate attempt for the fruity flavor to overpower whatever it was he just put into his system. It doesn’t work, unfortunately, but the alcohol gives him a good kick on the way down and soon his face is flushed red and his eyes are hooded, with tiredness or desire he can’t tell, and he knows he won’t be in this club for too much longer. The man reaches his hands around to Sasuke’s back, rubbing circles and slowly trailing their way down until he’s gripping at Sasuke’s hips and forcing the two of them together, and Sasuke lazily goes in for a kiss, his lips parted in a daze and he realizes that whatever he had been given might finally be kicking in. 

He can feel the man’s tongue against his lips, in his mouth, and then, on his neck. “Your mouth tastes like shit.” The man says. Maybe it doesn’t register. Maybe Sasuke doesn’t care. Everything slows. Things are alright. 

The two hands on his hips quickly turn to two more on his thighs. Another on his arm. Men surround him. Friends of the man, maybe? Sasuke doesn’t care. He relishes in the attention, in the feeling of not having to care. The first man but his hand to the back of Sasuke’s head, forcing their mouths together again. The heat from the club, from the bodies surrounding him, from the alcohol and from his desire makes him sweat. Sasuke’s clothes are slinging to his skin, leaving nothing to the imagination, leaving his hair plastered to his forehead and his glasses fog and spit drips down his chin from the messy kiss.

He doesn’t have to think, he doesn’t have to process, and doesn’t even notice that there’s a knife to the man’s neck until he’s thrown from his lap and has to, somehow, struggle to stand on his own. His legs shake and he supports himself on he edge of the bar table, hearing the sounds of fights and protests but not thinking, not processing, his only concern is the spinning room around him and the feeling of bile rising in his throat. 

A hand grabs his forearm. 

It’s not rough, it’s gentle, and he feels it’s owner wrap his other hand around his arm, too, in a protective way, in a comforting, familiar way. “We’re going home, dumbass.” He hears, and it’s the first clear thing he’s heard in awhile, standing out against the deafening music of the club and the sensual moans of its patrons. 

There stands Kihei, hair tousled and eyes dark, his face illuminated by the flashing lights. Behind him stands Ryujiro, looking down and kicking his feet, holding a phone up to his head that no doubt is connected to Rai, the last person Sasuke would want to know that he was here. Kihei hugs Sasuke’s arm, squeezes it tight, like his life depends on it and if he lets go Sasuke won’t come back, and Sasuke realizes maybe he’s right.


End file.
